


Champion

by Halfmoon95



Series: Briel Hawke [4]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-30
Packaged: 2018-02-15 02:36:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2212557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halfmoon95/pseuds/Halfmoon95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During and after Hawke's duel with the Arashok. Dealing with lots of pain and an injury.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Injuries

_She can't do this._

Fenris curses himself for the thought. He watches the fight in tense silence, one hand curled around the hilt of his sword. Briel stands in the center of the Keep, watching the Arashok through narrowed eyes.

_There's no way she'll survive._

He has seen Hawke work, seen the way she turns battle into a grotesque sort of dance. Lithe as a cat, graceful as a bird, quick as a viper, and deadlier than any animal he can think of. She's an artist with her daggers. 

_And it still won't be enough._

He hates himself in that moment, for having these doubts and for coming up with the bloody idea in the first place. They'd both known it was the only way to minimize innocent deaths, they'd both known she was the only one who could take this fight, and yet he would still give anything to take her place.

It isn't going well. The Arashok's blows pack the weight of a bear. He's quick on top of that, ridiculously so. Hawke is fast and she's smart but she's tiny and her place is in the back ranks picking off stragglers, not manning the front line. Fenris can see that she's growing tired. He sees it in the growing clumsiness of each strike, in the way the sweat pours down her face, in the flush of her porcelain cheeks.

She uses another potion, darting around a pillar to give herself time to drink. Part of him wonders if it's worth it. The time she uses running and hiding could be better spent putting her blades to use and the extra burst of adrenaline does little to stop blood flow, even less to take pain away.

_She's going to die._

It takes all of his strength to force himself to keep watching. He owes her that much. But every hit the Arashok lands, every fresh stain dripping through her armor, every cry of agony that slips through her pale red lips makes his chest grow tighter and tighter until he's holding his breath and praying to any god out their to  _save this woman._

When she falls, slipping in a puddle of her own blood, he knows it will be over soon. His jaw clenches as she scrambles backwards, eyes alight with panic. The Arashok looms over her, raising the massive broadsword over his head. Aveline grabs his forearm, eyes glued to the fight, swimming with unshed tears. Fenris shakes her off and frees his sword from the sheath on his back, trying to keep the movement casual, knowing he'll only have seconds when it's done to make his move. Hawke's piercing blue eyes find his green ones and he tries to say the words without speaking, to make sure she understands.

 _I love you,_ he thinks desperately.  _I should have told you that first night, I should never have left. I'm sorry, Hawke, I am so sorry._

And then she  _smiles._

Before he can figure out what that blighted smile is supposed to mean, she disappears in a flash and a puff of smoke.

_Oh, you bloody genius._

The Arashok lowers his weapon in obvious puzzlement and the crowd is murmuring in confusion and frustration and Fenris doesn't hear any of it. He just waits. He watches and he waits because he knows exactly what she's planning and it's the only chance she's got.

When she appears again she is no longer on the ground but standing behind the Arashok, eyes blazing and a wicked grin on her face. The daggers thrust into the Qunari's back, burying up to the hilt before ripping out through the sides and practically tearing the beast in half. The humans in the room burst into cheers, cries of "Hawke" and "Champion" ringing throughout the cavernous room. Hawke holds up her arm in acknowledgement and her eyes meet his again and he finds himself smiling back at her, weaving a way through the throngs of people so he can stand at her side.

"Well, it wasn't ripping his heart out with my bare hand," she begins mischievously when he is within ear shot, "but it'll do."

He shakes his head slowly. "You are impossibly-"

"Brilliant," Varric cuts him off. "That was absolutely brilliant, Hawke. They'll be telling stories about this one for a long time."

She opens her mouth to reply, but her eyes widen in pain and she stumbles toward Fenris.

He reaches out to steady her automatically. "Hawke? What is it?"

"I need to get out of here." Her voice has changed dramatically, now sounding strained and  _scared._ "Fenris, I need to get out of here now."

"Hawke, what-" And then he sees it. There is a four inch gash just below her rib cage and he can see...  _something_ stuck in the wound. "Find Anders," he growls to Varric. "Bring him to Hawke's estate. Aveline, clear a path. She's wounded. We've got to get her out of here." His two companions race off. "Hawke? Hawke, look at me, can you walk?"

She shakes her head, clutching at his chest just to stay standing. "No, I-  _no."_ Her face contorts with pain and it seems almost impossible how much paler she has already become.

"Hold on to me," he commands. He scoops her up into his arms, trying to keep one hand pressed to the wound to help stem the flow of blood. She covers his hand with her own, dropping her head onto his shoulder as one arm circles around his neck to keep her steady. The crowd is no longer cheering, most of the people huddling together in small pockets, murmuring worriedly. Aveline waits by the door, her expression grim.

"Is she-" The Knight-Commander sucks in a breath. "That doesn't look good."

"I need you to come with us," Fenris replies.  _She's fine, she's fine, she's fine, she's fine._ "There could be stragglers and I have to carry her."

Aveline unsheathes her sword, slinging her shield off of her back and onto her arm. "I'm with you."

Thankfully the estate isn't far from the Keep, and Anders and Varric are waiting for them.

"Bring her in here," Anders orders, shoving open the door to Hawke's room. "I have everything set up."

Fenris lowers Hawke, now barely conscious, onto the table that has been pulled near the fireplace, thinking of the last night he'd spent in this room.  _Not now. Don't think of it now._

"What do you need me to do?" the elf asks, hunched over the table near Hawke's head.

Anders is peering at the wound. "The blade broke off. I have to get it out before I can heal her. Aveline, hold her head still. Fenris, I need you to restrain her arms. Varric, there's a blue glass bottle in my bag. Grab that and something for her to bite down on. Hawke, can you hear me?"

"I- yes," she whispers. "I hear you."

"This is going to be painful. I need you to keep as still as possible. Can you do that?"

"I'll try."

"Here, put this in her mouth," Varric says, holding out a leather belt and setting the bottle on the table next to Anders.

"Hawke, are you ready?" Anders asks, once everything is situated.

She nods, jaw already clamped tightly on the belt and one hand clutching Aveline's.

Anders nods once and then begins.

Fenris watches every move the mage makes, trying not to flinch when he takes a knife and begins  _digging_ into Hawke's side. Hawke screams and attempts to thrash her arms but Fenris keeps her as immobile as he can, squeezing her wrists tightly and wishing he was deaf so he wouldn't have to  _hear_ this, to hear each scream tear its way through her throat. When the tears start leaking out of the corners of her eyes he begins to wish he was blind as well. 

"Varric. Legs." The words come out choked and rough but the dwarf catches their meaning and moves to secure Hawke's legs.

There is a sharp metallic clatter as Anders frees the broken blade and drops it onto the ground. 

"Got it."

"Then seal the wound," Fenris snaps.

"Not yet. I can use magic to close the cut but I'd be sealing in any infections. Have to clean it first. Keep biting, Hawke." Anders pulls the cork from the bottle and pours the liquid inside -alcohol judging by the smell- onto the wound. 

Hawke screams again and Fenris has to make a conscious effort to subdue the power in his markings.  _Don't lose control. She needs you._  

The mage's hands begin to glow with the green of healing magic and the cut begins to close up, leaving only a pale white scar in its place. 

"It's done," Anders pants.

Aveline strokes the top of Hawke's head, murmuring meaningless little platitudes that seem to have a calming affect. Hawke's eyes slowly open, catching Fenris' gaze immediately. 

"Let's not do that again," she whispers. 

"Never," he agrees. 

She smiles faintly before turning her attention to the rest of their companions. "Everyone take a week off. You all deserve the rest. I'll find you if I need you."

They slowly trickle out of the room, Anders assuring her that the chance of infection is remote but that he'll drop by and check on her tomorrow. She waves him away and then the room is empty, save for her and Fenris. She stares up at him, blue eyes questioning.

"Are you alright?" she asks quietly.

"Me?" he scoffs. "I should be asking you that."

She rolls her eyes. "I'm fine, Fenris. It takes more than that to get rid of me. You should know that." The look she gives him when she says it is pointed, almost amused, like she knows exactly what he's thinking.

_She probably does._

"I thought I was going to lose you." He whispers the words, afraid that saying them too loudly will somehow make them come true.

"Things did get a bit... dicey at the end." She looks down at her hands, curling and uncurling her fingers slowly. "But I'm still here." Her hand, warm and a little moist, closes over his. "I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm not either," he replies without thinking.

Her eyes widen. "Fenris?"

He meets her gaze, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'm staying right here, with you. I'm at your side, Hawke."

"I-"

He silences here with a finger placed gently on her lips. "Not now, Hawke. We'll have time to talk about it later. For now, you need to rest. We both do." He slides one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders, lifting her gently and carrying her to the bed. "Get some sleep."

She smiles as he pulls the blankets up under her chin. "Come see me tomorrow?"

"Definitely."

After making sure she's comfortable and that there's plenty of fuel for the fire, he gently closes the door to her room and leaves the estate, taking the short trip to his own estate at a light jog. He stays up for a few hours, drinking and grinning like a fool the entire time, before settling down to sleep. It feels like he's only closed his eyes for a moment when he wakes to an incessant pounding on the front door and muffled shouts.

Fenris springs to his feet, grabbing his sword off of the night stand. He crosses to the door, flinging it open and blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Anders?" he says irritably when he identifies the mage through the darkness. "What-"

"Come with me," the mage snaps, grabbing his arm and pulling him through the door. "Hawke's in danger."

"What are you talking about?" Fenris demands, stowing his sword in the sheathe on his back.

"I was looking at the blade I removed, mostly on a hunch," Anders explains, leading the way through Hightown Estates. "And that knife wasn't made by Qunari."

"That doesn't mean-"

" _Think,_ Fenris, was the Arashok using a dagger during the fight?"

The elf shakes his head. "No, he used a broadsword."

"Exactly. I think Hawke was stabbed  _after_ the fight."

Fenris's brow furrows. "And whoever cut her might try to finish the job."

"I'm not saying they will," Anders replies. "But Hawke's in no position to defend herself. I want to post a guard for tonight, just until she's rested up."

"Have you told the others?"

The mage nods. "I talked to Varric before coming here. He was going to find Merrill."

"Merrill?"

"It's not ideal, but Aveline will be tending to wounded guard and Isabela left us short handed."

They reach the mansion then and Fenris pushes the door open quietly. Bodahn, Sandal, and Orana have already gone to bed.

"I'll watch the front door," Anders says. "I assume you'll want to be with her."

Fenris nods his thanks and approaches Hawke's room, trying to move silently so he won't wake her. He needn't have worried.

Hawke is gone.


	2. Alone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello to my readers! So, a brief note, I just moved into my dorm at college, and with classes starting and trying to make friends and not be a completely introverted little freshman, I might be posting with much less frequency. I will attempt to post at least one chapter or fic a week, but at this point in time I don't know how well I'll actually be able to maintain that type of schedule. It all depends on time, homework, and whatever inspiration I can find. Just know that I will not be giving up on this story in any capacity and I will continue to try to improve my writing and bring life to the characters. :)
> 
> Thanks for reading!  
> -HM95

The sharp crackle of breaking glass should have been her first warning.

And when that didn't get the job done, Bodahn's shouts and Orana's squeal should have been a tip off as well.

And when the door to her room groaned open and no one called out a greeting, no concerned Aveline or bitter mage or brooding elf instantly appeared, she really should have known something was wrong.

Instead, she didn't realize it until the hooded figures poured into her room that she needed to move and she needed to move  _fast._  

Getting up isn't nearly as difficult as she is prepared for, and she rolls off of her bed, aiming for the chest holding her daggers that's near the door. Three figures, dwarves judging by the size of them, block her way and Hawke reaches into the pocket of her night clothes, withdraws the smoke bomb she always keeps on hand, and throws it onto the ground, plunging the room into a hazy darkness. 

_Need my daggers._ It's the only thought in her mind.

She almost makes it, weaving a serpentine path between the coughing assailants. Her hands close around the blissfully cool metal hilts of her knives and she slips through the open doorway only to find her route blocked by a hulking man who towers over her. Every fiber of her being screams at her to run, to dart past him and down the stairs and to Fenris, to safety, to home. 

But the stairs are blocked and she knows she has only one chance of escape. She grips one dagger by the blade between two fingers and in one fluid motion twists around and flings the knife at the window. The glass breaks, raining shards down on their heads, and ignoring the cuts to her face and arms she dives through the window.

There is a heart wrenching moment of weightlessness as she falls, maintaining just enough sense to rotate her body so that she lands on her uninjured side. The impact is jarring, sending a sharp pain rippling through her body. Hawke bites the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out and limps through the garden in the direction of the gate.

_Fenris. Get to Fenris._

She darts through the alleys of Hightown, trying to cover the distance between her estate and Fenris without being seen, hiding underneath awnings and inside doorways to make sure she isn't being followed.

She is. She's definitely being followed and there's a deep gash on her left shin that is leaving a blood trail and her pursuers are already less than twenty feet behind her and she knows, she  _knows,_ that she is going to be captured.

_Fine, you blighters. Just try and take me._

She turns to face them, one hand on her remaining dagger - in hindsight throwing her first one might not have been the best plan- already examining her opponents, looking for weak spots, holes in the guard, advantages that will help her to dispatch them quickly and efficiently. Even with a swollen hip and a twisted ankle she would put up a fight.

The first to attack drops to the ground with a slit through his throat. The second falls when she buries her knife into his stomach and slicing up to his throat. By this time three more are on her and she retrieves another smoke bomb, throwing it to the ground, rolling between the legs of an assailant, and burying her knife into his spine, just below the neck.

Electricity crackles in the air, alerting her to the presence of a mage, and she dives to the side just in time to avoid being burnt to a crisp by the bolt that struck the space she had been standing in. 

_Too many._  

Her right arm begins to ache with the exertion of doing all the work. She's gasping for air like a fish on land, desperately sucking in air that does little to relieve the burning in her lungs. Sweat pours down her face and arms, making it difficult to hold onto her blade.

_Too many._

A sixth dwarf charges her, his one of his human companions hot on his heels. She kills him, and his friend, and then another and another and  _another_ until her face is smattered with blood and her side screams from the pain and she wonders for the second time that day if this was going to be her death. Her legs shake with the effort, her arms as well, and she's going to  _die_ there on a Hightown street, mere meters away from the love of her life and the comfort he brings.

_Oh Fenris..._

The thought of her elf waiting for her, preparing to see her in the morning, prepared to  _love_ her, gives her a small bit of renewed strength. With grim determination she continues to slice through the air, repelling the enemies that come at her from all sides, a chaotic whirlwind of devastating blows and parries.

It's when she sees the man who had been on the stairs, burly and tall and with glowing blue hands, that she knows it's going to be over soon. He makes a hand gesture and ice, thin and blue and spidering, begins to crawl across the ground toward her and then it's on her and it creeps up her legs until the lower half of her body is encased in a thick layer of frozen water.

She hacks at it futilely, desperate to escape and to run and to not let it end like this, but it makes no difference. Soon her arms are restrained and her head is made immobile by a hand fisted in her hair and she can do nothing but glare at her captor in silent defiance.

"Champion," the man sneers, looking her up and down with a gaze that made her skin crawl. "The great Champion of Kirkwall brought down by a group of mercenaries."

"Who are you?" she demands through gritted teeth.

"An interested party." He pushes back his hood revealing dark hair and piercing blue eyes and a violent purple scar stretching from brow to mouth. "Someone is willing to pay a lot of coin for your capture." A sack is pulled over her head, rendering her blind and even more helpless than she was before.

"You don't want to do this," she replies, trying to keep her voice firm, confident, even though part of her wants to cry and the other wants to scream. "I have friends, connections, people with more resources than you can imagine and who will come for me. They'll come for me and they'll kill every last one of you bastards and-"

Something hard hits the back of her head, a heavy blow that dots her vision with stars and makes her whole body go slack. Her knees give out and she falls to the ground that is damp from the ice, and someone picks her up and slings her over their shoulder like a sack.

"To the Wounded Coast," someone commands.

And then she loses consciousness.

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally going to be a one chapter thing, but then I got an idea for how this could be a longer fic, and I'm hoping it works out as well on paper as it's working in my head.


End file.
